Do, or Undo?

cried it from my soapbox, then drowned in all the suds..

why explain or try to
reason when you can just
pump your bitter
in ’em?

why seed and grow a tree when
you can clear them and
sell the hell out
of ’em?

why lend a hand when you’d
rather buy more rubber
gloves to keep my
dirt off

go lease ’em.

and why strain to drop a tear
when you can just drain
the nearest ocean,

and all deep
life in ’em.



Winds of Change are Blowing at my Brain – A Call to Other Creatives..

I rarely step outside my poems and pictures to share and in this time of uncertainly and evolution of our collective consciousness, but here goes. I want to take my thoughts, ideas, passions in some new directions and I find that doing so alongside the brains of others can be rewarding. If any of you deeply creative spirits wish to collaborate on any kind of creative venture, don’t be shy and come a’ knockin’. I’m rarely as confounding in collaboration as my own compositions may suggest and play it pretty fair.

So, if you have any interest in puttin’ a pot on and doing some joint creation with me, just say so.

If you’re shy and prefer to e-mail, I can be reached at:



Seein’ Reds

when blade’s not being waved
or weaponized it’s the tool designed
to peel dead layers from
my eyes,

i’m the tool chiseled in
flawed design, ever making nice
with lobby’s shortest
exit line,

but movie’s just begun
and i vowed to stay,
at least until
i sprout a

and elbow my way
thru popcorn n’
soda line,

in a bum’s rush
to next lit-up
exit sign.



Tactical Applications

can’t peel my eyes off
you tho to be fair
i’ve never

it’s ok, you like your fashion
fixtures brushed over
surface n’ press
on anyway,

like prettied nail
calcified over
the finger

a crusty lash above the
floodgates, cries now more
over love than she
ever hurt for

still, wouldn’t swap all
that’s smudged so streaky for
flawless stroke applied
to model face.



Stalled Car

there’s something in the
way i stutter thru shames of
tongue’s transgressions

it’s like i failed in revving an engine
that turns and rolls all over
itself to catch a spark
off anything,

other than own
propulsive energies,
repulsed by own

rough state of
this stalled
out car

‘ready pushed
too hard



Saran Wrap Larry

When I was a sloppy teen, I once woke to find a weird saran wrap holder salesman with a porn-stache in my raised ranch home.  My ‘rents had regrettably failed to inform me this friend of a friend of a friend’s dirtbag salesman’s friend was staying for the same weekend I had planned to exploit my house or sake of a drinking party on. The party persists, stache-can man lurks n’ lunges, streakin’ his slime wherever he walks. I don’t remember his name, but I am pretty sure he was a Larry. He left my beer fridge empty and a saran wrap holder that never really worked very well, oh well.